This is the Way the World Ends
by Fox Murphy
Summary: For all the fallen members of the Order of the Phoenix, there was one final, defining moment.
1. Fireflies

AN - Done for the first_order community over on LJ, which I discovered today and was determined to get in a story before the deadline for this week. Anyways, my prompts were Edgar Bones and Loud and defiant. Bit more angsty than my usual work, but I suppose it's good to practice with a variety, right? Read and review and other such awesome things.

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Edgar Bones lay where he had fallen, vision gone blurry and red. There was roaring in the background, and screams somewhere distant and far away. There were white masks that shone sickly green in the light of the mark that hovered overhead. Today had been a warm summer day, a birthday, his mind supplied. His brother Edmund had been there, his older sister Susan. And there had been cake and laughter and singing, sweet summer air and the smell of fresh grass. Night had fallen in a slow inky spread, leaving children romping through the yard chasing fireflies and the adults chattering quietly about wars and dark things. Susan had left for home first, kissing the children goodbye, and Edmund had embraced his brother and tossed baby Martin into the air, drawing a laugh from his nephew.

_Be careful_ Susan had said, all serious eyes and soft smile.

_See you tomorrow_ Edmund had waved a cheerful goodbye before he vanished entirely.

Edgar had hugged his brother and sister, had bid them farewell, had kissed his wife and settled into a comfortable chair to watch his children in the yard. The full moon shimmered overhead, marred by passing grey clouds, and Edgar had just been about to call the children in for bed when they came.

And they came like shadows, slippery and soft extensions of the night itself, shuddering to the earth with a whisper. Edgar was on his feet in an instant, wand in his hand, dashing to reach the children even as the house exploded into flame behind him. The heat burnt his neck and filled the air with smoke and heat and death. His wife screamed and fell in a blur of green light, still protecting Martin even as she died. Edgar hurled curses and hexes, downed one Death Eater, then two, but there were simply too many. The fire spread to the porch, and the children's screams fell silent in blurs of light and magic and Edgar thought he might be crying and shouting, though the effort did no good. And then the leader of the attackers levelled at Edgar, the spell struck him in the chest and he went sailing backwards, his chest constricting painfully, matching the agony that was his heart. He lay where he had fallen, his vision blurry and red, watching as the Death Eaters summoned the Mark, painted the yard in wavering green light. And Edgar could only see the children chasing fireflies, his wife in her chair. Edmund and Martin, Susan's serious eyes. And Edgar was standing again, wand raised, roaring loud and defiant. He had never been a quiet man in life, never one to surrender. He would not be quiet in death. His first spell caught the leader in the face, knocking away the mask and revealing the pale face of Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy's face contorted in fury and then they were dueling, furious and fast and Edgar knew, in a fair and honest fight he would best the Death Eater easily. But this fight had stopped being fair and honest the moment the intruders had interrupted the evening, had silenced the children and bathed the house in flames. Edgar Bones was still fighting, loud and defiant, eyes blazing, even as green light swarmed at him form so many wands, and suddenly the pain was gone.


	2. Red Skies

A/N - Yay for another first_order fic...because I felt rather like after doing the happy scene with Gideon before, I ought to go ahead and give him a death scene. I'm actually thinking of doing so for all the Order members, especially the ones who didn't get death scenes in the books. So read, review, let me know what you think, all that good stuff. I still don't own anything, jut in case you were wondering.

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Inky darkness had utterly drowned the world, broken by the sheen of starlight on silver masks and by the flurry of lights that sizzled and snapped through the air. There were two pairs of running feet, two identical men sprinting down an alley, wands raised and pointed backward towards their masked attackers. Sharp, harsh breaths punctuated each step and spell, a rough and primal rhythm to the chase. Gideon Prewett skidded to a halt just inches shy of the rough stone wall that appeared in his path as if summoned from the shadows. Beside him his brother pounded an angry fist into the wall, blue light scorching the stones between them.

"I do believe," Gideon said slowly, closing his eyes and willing himself to speak, to breath. "That this is the end."

"I'd have to say you're quite right," Fabian agreed,a loose smile forced onto his face, and Gideon had never seen a smile look so hollow, so wrong. "Pity we couldn't just apparate out."

"Neither can they," Gideon pointed out, ducking as another spell flew out him and blasted a chunk out of the wall. Fabian grinned wickedly now, his pale face glowing a sickly green in the light on another spell.

"We'll be taking them with us then."

"Naturally."

Footsteps echoed down the alley, the snap of spells and the roar of furious words, but everything faded to a faint buzz in the background as Gideon first shook his brother's hand, then embraced him tightly. No words passed. None were needed. Always in life they had been extensions of each other, merely one person split in two. At least, Gideon noted, they would die together.

Then they broke apart as the Death Eaters closed in, cutting off the only escape. And Gideon could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, knew his hands were shaking badly and he was covered in a cold, sticky sweat. Fear snaked through him at the thought of dying, at the realization that he would never again see his sister, his nephews. His cozy home in London or the boys from the Order. That pretty Muggle girl he had been meaning to invite to dinner. Gideon clenched his jaw tight, willed himself not to cry, not to be afraid, even though the thought of death terrified him. He had never wanted any of this endless fighting, this nameless death in a far away place. Any of this ugly, awful war and the aching helplessness of watching someone you loved die. He had only wanted to fix a world that lay broken at the feet of a man who embraced the darkest parts of humanity. Fury now twisted up from deep inside him, drowning out the fear, roaring and racing through him and Gideon raised his wand and fired into the crowd of shadows and masks. Hexes and jinxes and stunners ripped the air, driving the Death Eaters backward, back toward the narrow lane that led to freedom. But then the fighting intensified, and the air burned and swirled with ash and smoke and Gideon was half-blind, firing into choking darkness that squeezed the very air from him. And then, after what seemed like an eternity of fighting formless shadows, the darkness began to fade.

Night slowly edged back in a blur of twilight colors, orange and gold and rosy pink stretching across the sky in thin tendrils like fingers reaching up over the horizon. Within seconds, the deep inky sky had disappeared, replaced by a burning blood red that cast the world into strange hues. The view, for a moment, of the crimson sky and the trailing glow across the street lamps, the sidewalks, the rooftops, was mesmerizing and strangely, silently beautiful. Day was dawning, marking the horizon in a bold line of light and crimson and gold, Gryffindor colors blazoned over the world. Gideon Prewett breathed a silent goodbye to Molly, to his nephews, to everyone else. He breathed a silent prayer for himself, for the Order, for his brother. And then Fabian screamed and fell in a blur of purple light, and Gideon was struck by a staggering pain that drew a gasp from his already burning throat. His wand hung useless at his side, and he barely saw the same slice of purple light arching towards him.

For an awful, wrenching moment, everything inside him seemed to twist in on itself, utterly wrong and misplaced and painful. Gideon fell to the ground, eyes squeezed shut and hands clutched to his stomach, uselessly trying to heal the unseen injury. And then he could taste coppery blood in the back of his throat and his breathing faltered, feeling shallow and wet. His heart thudded once, twice, achingly slow. Above him were five masks, painted blood red in the morning light, shimmering and insubstantial. Then a warm beam of sunlight fell across his face, the smell of spring air and the pain faded to nothing as Gideon closed his eyes and fell away into darkness.


	3. Flashes

A/N - Another first_order prompt, this time the claim is Dorcas Meadows and "The Dead Cry Out"

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Shaking fingers fumbled again and again for the lock, finally succeeding in opening the door on the third try. She rushes inside and slammed the door behind her, the rolling boom echoing into the stillness. The house is warm and dark and quiet, a haven from the howling wind and snow that had begun a fierce assault on the world. Dorcas sinks to the floor, back pressed to the door and wand clutched in sweating, shaking fingers. Her stomach is churning and all she can feel is horrible, horrible panic and she wishes that she had never had a gift for reading people. She's no Seer, and she's no great Legimens either, but sometimes there are just brief flashes that she's learned from years of experience are often true. Flashes of James and Lily Potter and a baby soon to come. Flashes of Sirius Black arguing fiercely with a shorter man who must have been his brother. Flashes of the Weasleys and their children, of the Prewetts bathed in crimson sun, of Moody with a vivid, magical eye. And tonight, tonight there had been a flash of Peter, sweet, quiet Peter, and the Dark Mark branded on his arm.

She had stiffened and gone utterly cold, dropping the dish she had been meaning to pass to the blond young man who she had never even heard raise his voice. The clatter and smash as the dish struck the table, sending potatoes flying everywhere, drew silence from the gathered crowd. Peter blinked and then forced a nervous laugh, wiping potatoes from his nose and waving his wand over the dish, repairing the damage.

"They're just potatoes Dorcas, no reason to get so excited."

Somewhere further down the table Sirius and one of the Prewetts were laughing at this, but the sound was warped and fuzzy because all Dorcas could see were Pettigrew's watery eyes and slow, uncertain frown as her heart pounded in her ears. And then his eyes widened in surprise, and Merlin he knew what she had seen. Dorcas' mouth worked soundlessly, opening and closing and her throat utterly refusing to work as her mind screamed that the man across from her was a traitor. With one more attempt at cleaning his face, Peter rose from the table, watching Dorcas with a frown now as he excused himself. The kitchen door opened and closed and he was gone, and Dorcas felt her heart plunge somewhere in the general direction of her stomach. Shaking and half-stumbling away from the table, dismissing a worried Molly Weasley with a fake smile and a gentle shrug, Dorcas bolts for the door as well.

All the world is white and dark and filled with snow and icy wind, and Dorcas feels the chill break across her skin and the effect is similar to jumping into freezing water. She gasps and spins and shuts her eyes, and with a pop she is at her own front door, fumbling at the lock and desperate to claim the safety of indoors. The sudden warmth dances across her frozen skin, the snow melting into puddles on the floor, and Dorcas cannot bring herself to dry off or move at all from her place against the door. She should call for help, she knows, because Peter will have told someone, will have warned his masters that his betrayal had been discovered. Hastily she stumbles to her feet, slipping on the wet floor, jerking open a desk drawer and sending parchment spilling everywhere. Whether from fear or the cold her fingers seem to be refusing to work and all the can manage to scrawl across the paper are _Peter _and _traitor_ before the door flies open with a crash behind her and the parchment is flying away through the house at the sudden onslaught of winter wind.

Dorcas clutches her wand and swallows hard, tears sparking at her eyes and wishing someone, anyone, would think to come and look, come to see why she had left the meeting in such a hurry. But no one is coming, she knows, and so she turns, expecting to find a small army of black robed figures standing and waiting in the empty space once occupied by her door.

The snow stings her face and melts on her skin, sharp and icy cold and numbing her cheeks. Only one figure stands in the door. A tall, thin shape in a dark robe, and when he pushes back his hood, he reveals a face more serpentine than human, Dorcas screams in spite of herself and casts every hex she knows. And the Dark Lord only laughs, tossing the spells away into the snowy night with careless ease, and Dorcas finds herself backed against the wall, trapped.

"Ms. Meadows."

His voice is high and cold as the snow that whips around him, steadily forming a slick white layer on the tiles. Dorcas shuts her eyes and clutches her wand in one trembling hand, refusing to look. A spell snaps through the air and suddenly she is on the floor and there is awful, awful pain and she must be screaming because Merlin it hurts and she can taste blood in her mouth and the flying snow is like daggers against her skin. And then everything stops and Dorcas can feel her heart hammering in her chest, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. There is a spray of crimson across the white snow, and a dark, shifting robe standing over her. Despite herself, Dorcas looks up, meets the red eyes in a cold, calm face and she knows she will not live out the night.

"Ms. Meadows, I think I'll give you a chance to join me. You do have a very useful talent."

The offer is offhand and casual, and for half a moment Dorcas wonders if perhaps a sort of half-life would be better than dying in the swiftly piling snow. And she is ashamed of the thought almost instantly, a sick feeling crawling through her as she gathers her courage and shakes her head fiercely. The Dark Lord does not seem surprised by her refusal, merely shrugging and flourishing his wand. His words are lost in the roar of wind as the snow whirls into odd shapes against the darkness, ghosts in the night. Dorcas sees a flash, just a flash, of a boy with a scar and crooked glasses and a ruined castle. And then there is green light and all the world is roaring as the dead cry out to meet her.


	4. Mea Culpa

A/N - Prompts this time were Marlene McKinnon/Foolish. The only canon description we get of Marlene's untimely end is that Death Eaters got not only her, but her family as well. Let's see what we can do about that. Also, I know I don't make it clear in the fic so I'll say up front that I consider Marlene to have been a Ravenclaw.

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Marlene McKinnon knew she had been foolish to come here, foolish to come running home to the supposed safety of her parents. Foolish to think that all the darkness and evil of the world could be safely shut out behind the doors of her childhood home. There had been a mission, a battle, a furious rush of spoken words and snapping spells that blistered the air. Trapped in an abandoned cottage, outnumbered and unable to escape, Marlene had wished only for one last chance to see her parents, her brothers. One last chance to say goodbye. Then emerald flames had blazed up behind her, silhouetting Remus Lupin and Benjy Fenwick, who had been working frantically to open a Floo connection. Rough hands seized hold of her, an oddly solemn James Potter pushing her towards the flames.

_Get out of here!_ James roared as spells ripped through the shattered windows, scorching the wall and sending the boys tumbling to the ground. Unwillingly to leave, unwilling to run, Marlene stood at the edge of the fireplace, eyes wide and entirely unable to move as she watched first Benjy, then James bolt for the door and into the rapidly growing twilight.

_Marlene, go! _Remus pleaded and shouted at once as he followed his friends out into the night. And Marlene had obeyed, leaping into the emerald flames. Without thinking she had shouted not the name of Order headquarters, but the name of her parents' home.

Tumbling from the fireplace, coughing and half-sobbing at the thought of the boys she had left behind, Marlene found herself sprawled on the living room rug. Chairs scraped in the kitchen, footsteps came running in answer to the noise, and Marlene forced herself back upright as her father rounded the corner. Without hesitation she ran to him, burying herself in the safety of her father's arms just as she had when she was a child and she had fallen off her toy broom. Wrapped in the warm, strong arms Marlene could pretend she was a child once more, and not a nineteen year old solider in a dark and terrible war. And then her mother was there, dark eyes and soft, worried frown, her elder brother not far behind. Marlene knew she was crying, knew the story of the mission and Order and the boys was tumbling form her lips in a rush of words that barely made sense. But her father held onto her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

_Shh. You're safe here. _He murmured, smiling his same crinkly smile. And Marlene wanted to scream and cry, because no place was safe, not anymore. A sudden flare of emerald light proved her words as the Floo roared in warning, half a second too late. Black robes and white masks stepped easily from the fireplace, filling the room with a chilling darkness that had never belonged in this place of childhood memories and quiet warmth. Marlene found herself pushed back towards the kitchen, her father's wand out in a smooth, easy motion surprising for a man his size. Her brother moved too, dashing forward with a furious yell even as Marlene grabbed desperately at his robes. The pair of them had always been Gryffindors, recklessly brave, always leaping to her defense. But the Death Eaters were far too many, had no intention of fighting fair, and Marlene screamed as first her brother, then her father, fell lifeless to the floor in twin blurs of green light. Their eyes were open, empty and staring upward unseeing. And then her mother was beside her, past her, rushing forward before Marlene could stop her, grabbing desperately at the hands of her fallen husband as though she could will the life back into him. Green light and shadows and then she had joined him in death.

Marlene staggered backwards, horrified, stomach churning as her dinner threatened to return. She had been foolish to come here, foolish. And her foolishness had only drawn the Death Eaters to her family. Her family who had wanted no part in the war, who had never hurt another witch or wizard. Marlene's grip tightened around her wand and she swallowed hard, cold sweat and harsh breaths and sudden, grim determination overcoming her. The Death Eaters closed in, glowing in the greenish light from the fire, and Marlene tried and failed to defend herself. The first spell sent her wand spinning away, into the kitchen and out of reach. The next had her tumbling to the floor, gasping in pain. A white mask leaned over her, eyes as cold as the darkness. Marlene squeezed her eyes shut, breathed a silent goodbye to all her friends who were still alive, still fighting. She never heard the spell, never saw the green light. She only knew that was falling, and then there was warmth and safe, strong arms, and Marlene knew that she was home.


	5. Old Magic

A/N - Right so this one's a bit late. I got horribly distracted by that drabble contest - not that I'm complaining. On the positive side, that means the remaining chapters should be posted in rather quick succession. Concerning this piece - In canon, all we find out about Caradoc Dearborn is that his body was never found. This intrigued me. Let's see if we can't explain why nobody ever found the poor fellow...

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The world had taken on a slow, bright feeling, colors spinning and blending sickeningly. Caradoc Dearborn lay where he had fallen, staring upward at the circle of white masks in dark robes, stark contrast to the swirl of color around him. His head ached and his stomach seemed to have been tangled into a jumble of knots that did not fit properly. He knew if he stood up, the horrible dizziness would only send him to the ground once more. Outnumbered, outmatched, and entirely trapped, Caradoc slowly resigned himself to the fact that he should indeed have been more careful. One of the white masks vanished, replaced by the solemn scowl of Augusts Rookwood. Caradoc felt the stirrings of anger, the edges of betrayal flickering like torn fabric at the realization that Augustus had betrayed the Order. Slowly Augustus kneeled down, the face of the boy from his school years long faded into a solid and unfamiliar mask.

"Hello Caradoc."

The voice sounded the same, at least, if not far more detached than Caradoc would ever have believed possible for a human to sound. Augustus sounded like a ghost. Caradoc struggled for breath, struggled to respond, but something heavy had situated itself on his chest, and air came only in short, ragged gasps. Augustus shook his head and raised a finger to his lips.

"Don't try to speak. You won't be able to. Now, you've happened along at a very opportune time Caradoc. I was just having a discussion with some of my friends, I think you might be able to settle it for us."

There should have been panic here, deep bone-chilling fear at the tone, at Augustus' face, at being trapped and helpless and unable to move. Somewhere beneath the fog that had fallen over him, Caradoc's mind was indeed screaming for him to move, to defend himself, to do something. But lying still and listening was so much easier, and he was so very very tired.

"Now Caradoc, surely you've heard stories about wizards being trapped places. Rocks, trees. And the funny thing is, supposedly they're still alive."

Another distant flare of panic as hands seized him and hauled him upright, his limbs limp and refusing to respond. He was being dragged backward, Augustus following with an amused expression. Then the movement stopped and Caradoc could feel the rough scratch of bark against his back. _A tree_ his mind supplied slowly. _Just like Augustus was talking about. How very odd._

"You wouldn't mind being part of our little experiment, would you Caradoc?" Augustus asked lightly, retrieving his wand from some hidden pocket. Upon receiving no answer, Augustus merely smiled and patted Caradoc's cheek.

"Of course you wouldn't. You always were game for trying new things."

Then Augustus' mouth was moving, old ancient words that Caradoc would not have recognized even if a thick fog had not taken up residence in his mind. Caradoc could feel the magic against his skin, watched as Augustus moved his wand in shifting shapes and patterns. The world exploded into bright pastels, swirling and shifting with the movement of Augustus' wand. And then Caradoc was falling backward, and some part of his mind knew there ought to be a very solid tree. But there was only cold air and nothingness, a tight embrace of magic around his body. The bright pastels faded, darkness swimming in at the edges of his vision, and the last thing Caradoc Dearborn saw was the face of Augustus Rookwood, who looked like he had just solved a complex Arithmancy problem. Then there was only darkness and heartbeats, long slow breaths and a thick fog. An age passed, a thousand seasons, and Caradoc Dearborn forgot who he was and who he had ever been.


	6. Pieces

A/N - See what'd I tell you? Two quick updates. It's awesome, I know. Only one chapter remaining after this, for the record. Anyway, some background. The canon account for Benjy Fenwick is that he was found in pieces. Which Death Eater, I thought to myself, would have been most likely to do something demented like that? Oh. Yes. Her. Also, for more on the Benjy/Marlene dynamic (you may think it's random, but they both died so for all we know, I could be right, couldn't I?) you may want to go read the drabbles posted in A Life Worth Living. It's not really necessary, just lends a bit of background is all.

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Seated in the darkness, chained to the floor by a rusted piece of metal that had been charmed to prevent escape, Benjy Fenwick had yet to experience the bitter taste of fear. The rage was still too bright, too consuming, burning like a fire inside him that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out. If he didn't know they were about to kill him, Benjy might have been afraid the rage would destroy him entirely. The door at the end of the room opened, a sliver of light spilling across the floor. Benjy had long since lost his glasses, lost them in the initial struggle when the Death Eaters took him. All that he saw enter the room was a blur of black hair and black robes, the smudge of a pale face somewhere in the middle. For all he knew, his executioner was still wearing a mask. The door shut again and magical light flooded the room, cold and harsh and throwing the tiny cell into blurs of grey and broken stone. Benjy remained where he was, back against the wall, one leg stretched out and almost entirely beyond pain at this point despite the horrible looking fracture just below his knee. Cold sweat clung to him, plastered his curls to his head and sent tremors skittering across his skin. The figure approached, and Benjy fought to remain utterly, entirely still, narrowing his eyes and scowling at his captor. His intention had been to look intimidating. Based on the cackling laughter, he only succeeded in looking vaguely comical. Blood rushed to his face, the rage howling and deepening as he recognized who now stood before him.

"Bellatrix Black," he sneered, wishing he had his wand, his glasses, anything at all. Wishing he wasn't chained helpless to a wall at the mercy of an utterly insane witch.

"It's Lestrange now, actually. I'd have thought Dumbledore would be keeping up with things like that - the wedding was certainly in all the papers."

"Must have missed that. I don't get Death Eater Weekly," the last word ended in a muffled cry as a foot connected with his broken leg. Benjy pressed his eyes shut and his head to the wall, jaw clenched as he fought not to scream.

"You know Mr. Fenwick, I'm told you're very talented. An Unspeakable, actually. We could use someone with your skills," Bellatrix murmured, waving a blurred shape that must have been her wand. The motion was casual, but instantly the pain in Benjy's leg vanished. His fists clenched and he staggered to his feet, using the wall for support.

"Funny, I don't remember anyone giving Marlene that chance!"

Bellatrix was laughing again, a high, cold sound that might as well have been nails on a chalkboard. Heartbeat pulsing in his ears, the air crackled and stiffened and time felt sluggish and slow. Marlene had been killed without so much as a second thought, murdered with the rest of her family. And Benjy had been entirely helpless to prevent it. He had sent her away from the fight and had in fact sent her to her death. If Bellatrix did not kill him, the rage certainly would. That or the guilt, whichever happened to reach a boiling point first. He had been inconsolable as soon as he heard the news, frantic and disbelieving until he saw Marlene's lifeless body. He had planned to ask her to marry him. Now she was gone, and Benjy was left with an aching guilt and a thunderous rage and a murderous death wish. She was gone, and he would join her, and he would take as many Death Eaters with him as he could manage.

Only, he had not anticipated being caught quite so soon, had not anticipated the broken leg or being dragged to wherever this prison was. When he had pictured how he would die, Benjy certainly had not anticipated dying at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange in some cold empty dungeon. There was no stopping the inevitable now.

With a bang and a snap, pain flared through his leg and Benjy collapsed back to the floor, gasping as the bones shifted.

"So that's it? Revenge?" Bellatrix sounded highly amused at the prospect.

"I think about revenge," Benjy growled, "I think about revenge. About killing you and all the rest of your mad friends and your coward of a master."

Her face was still blurred, but red suddenly flooded the smudge of pale color and Bellatrix swung her wand in a high arc. The spell hit him across the chest like a sword blow, razor sharp and cutting deep. Benjy grunted at the impact, pressing one hand to his chest as warm, sticky blood poured from the gash. He did not need his glasses to see his hand came away coated with deep red.

"You will _not _speak of the Dark Lord, you filthy mudblood!"

"Oh I'm filthy?" Benjy laughed now, feeling ridiculously, improbably, recklessly brave. He was doomed now, there was no stopping his fate. "I'm at least not a product of generations of inbreeding."

Bellatrix shrieked in fury, lashing out with her wand again. The spell sliced at the opposite angle of the first, opening a wide 'x' across his chest. Benjy gasped, slumping forward as the air suddenly became heavy and thick and difficult to breath.

"I'll tear you apart!"

"Go ahead," Benjy managed, voice as strong as he could manage as his life bled away in a haze of blurry reds and whites. "My heart's already in pieces."


	7. Betrayal

A/N - And here we've reached the final chapter. This scene occurs Second War era, because Emmeline Vance, as canon tells us, was murdered "in a nasty way." Canon also happens to mention that a certain double agent took credit for his part in her death. Let's see what we can do with that. As always, read, review, and most importantly - Enjoy! And many thanks to all who have read/reviewed thus far - you're all awesomely cool people =) Here's to more fics in the future!

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_"Though those that are betray'd do feel the treason sharply..."_

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_  
_

"Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Of course."

Emmeline cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, pulling her cloak tighter in the damp chill of the dark room. The lock clicked into place, the light from an extra spell shimmering green for a moment across the profile of Severus Snape. He had assured her that a contact of his would be meeting them here. A contact who had important information for the Order. Emmeline had never spent much time with Snape at school and had certainly not made much effort to seek him out now that they were more or less working together for the Order. Thus she had been greatly surprised when Severus had arrived at headquarters, interrupting her late lunch in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. He had at first demanded to see Mad-eye, who had in fact left a good hour earlier, and then inquired as to the whereabouts of Remus Lupin. When Emmeline revealed that she had no idea where either of the men were at present and rather crossly stated that she would very much like to finish her lunch now, Snape's eyes narrowed and he glowered down at her. Emmeline shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. Snape finally decided that she would do just as well, that he only needed a member of the Order, and she grudgingly abandoned her lunch and followed him out into the yard.

The overgrown gardens of Grimmauld Place were lost in a blur of grey skies and spinning earth, and then Emmeline was standing on a London street corner. Snape was already striding away, black cloak billowing in the wind, and Emmeline had to jog to catch up. The world was cold and drizzly and gray, far too gray for late August. Suddenly Emmeline was more inclined to believe Moody when he said the dementors were spreading. She quickly lost track of where they were going as Severus turned down one sharp alley, then another, and the bricks and sidewalks and noise all faded into one constant stream of city background. Snape finally stopped at a crooked door and he never even knocked before entering. Emmeline swallowed back a distinctly nervous feeling that had been plaguing her for a few blocks now and followed Snape inside.

The moment she entered the rundown little room, Emmeline knew something was wrong. The nerves suddenly flared into outright fear, and she fidgeted with the edge of her cloak, one hand tight around her wand. Snape was Dumbledore's spy, she reminded herself, he must know what he was doing. The damp chill of London lingered in the long abandoned room, and Emmeline cast a hasty Warming Charm on her chilled fingers.

"Who exactly are we waiting for, Severus?"

Snape had leaned himself against the door, dark cloak and dark hair barely distinguishable from the shadows. His pale face had a detached, resigned sort of look that Emmeline recalled easily, horrified panic swarming over her. Snape had often adopted the same look just before he allowed his little school friends to do whatever new cruelty they most wanted to try.

"Severus?"

No answer ever came, at least not in the form of words. Three pops echoed in the stillness, quick succession. One moment Emmeline was standing in the center of the room, shuddering within her cloak and watching Snape at the door. The next, three dark robed figures had appeared in between, and Snape departed as the door opened and closed. Emmeline nearly screamed, nearly ordered, begged for Snape to come back, for him not to leave her trapped. But she knew he would not return, knew her fate had been sealed from the moment in Grimmauld Place when Severus Snape decided she would serve his purpose. Serve as a good enough sacrifice. Emmeline raised her wand, a shaft of light cutting across the dark room and casting the Death Eaters into shadow and odd angles.

"What do you want?" she heard herself demand, her voice more confident than she felt, fearing she already knew the answer.

One spell knocked away her wand, the next sent her tumbling across the dusty floor. Emmeline coughed and reached out, trying desperately to summon her wand back. Fingertips scraped across smooth wood, and then the wand was in her hand once more. She swung out with speed that surprised her attackers, the nearest Death Eater falling backward with a shout and a bang, toppling over a table and vanishing into the shadowy edges of the room. Emmeline hurried to her feet, pressing her back to the wall and lighting her wand, desperately fighting to save herself from an enemy that blurred and blended into the shadows. One moment there were white faces and bold lights, the next only her own panted breaths and panicked, racing heart. With every breath Emmeline felt herself slowly, painfully resign herself to the fact that she would never leave this damp, dark room. White masks and red light, and Emmeline gasped as the air left her. She fell to the floor, wand rolling away from suddenly numb fingers. The Death Eaters loomed over her, masks blurred, and Emmeline could feel her heart thrumming, racing in her ears. A damp chill settled over her, bright spurts of crimson against the bold blackness of the room, and Emmeline felt her heart shudder and skip and finally cease to beat.


End file.
